Photograph
by generalnothingness
Summary: Memories of lazy day afternoons, sleepovers, pillow fights, daisy chains, old records, trading clothes and gossip flashed through her mind.  A look into the mind of Petunia Dursley.


**Title:** Photograph  
**Rating:** G  
**Author:** Gen  
**Disclaimer:** None of the characters are mine.  
**Summary:** "Memories of lazy day afternoons, sleepovers, pillow fights, daisy chains, old records, trading clothes and gossip flashed through her mind." A look into the mind of Petunia Dursley.  
**A/N:** This has not been beta'd.

In the summer before his twelfth birthday, Harry Potter found a picture that changed his view of a member of his family forever. He was going through the closet in the smallest bedroom when a small box, about the size of a shoebox, fell on his head. He rubbed the spot on the top of his head as he bent to lift the lid off the fallen box. Inside were pictures. Mostly photos of Dudley, one that had been replaced with newer pictures on the mantle. But as he dug deeper, Harry found pictures from before Dudley was born. A few were of his Uncle Vernon in front of number four Privet Drive, a 'Sold' sign sticking out from behind him. A few pictures of his aunt and uncle at the beach, his uncle a bright red in color, followed.

Harry pulled more and more photos from the box, going back in time. He pulled a few more pictures out, some of his aunt with various men that weren't his uncle. She looked happy then. His fingers stilled as he came across a photo that took his breath away. Two girls, younger than he was at the moment, stood side by side, alike yet so different. They were both familiar, one whom he'd seen almost everyday of his life and one that he'd spent his whole life wishing he could see. His mum and his aunt stared back at him. His eyes traveled over the familiar face of his mother. She was younger in this picture. Younger than any picture Harry own of her. She was about 9 or 10, and Harry guessed that this picture was taken before she got her Hogwarts letter. Which would probably explain why his Aunt Petunia actually looked happy to be posing with her sister.

Harry's eyes scanned the photograph again. The two sisters looked so alike, yet so different. Lily looked the same. Same bright eyes and red hair. Same smile plastered onto her face. Petunia had a smile on as well, one of the few genuine ones Harry had ever seen on his aunt. It made her seem so young and carefree. The two girls were leaning into each other in front of a small house with blue shutters. The smiles on their faces looked like they had just shared a secret with each other and Harry wished that this picture would move like wizarding pictures did. He would have loved to see his mother laugh again, such a young girl without a care in the world, not knowing that in just a years time she would get a letter that would change her life and send her on a road to death. Harry wished, not for the first time, that he could go back and warn her. Harry would have also liked to see his Aunt Petunia laugh. Not a fake laugh like when Uncle Vernon tells one of his golfing jokes, but a real laugh. In his whole life Harry had never seen his Aunt Petunia really laugh, a thought that brought a frown to his face. While he didn't particularly like the Dursleys, they had, in fact, taken him in when he had nowhere else to go, and Harry would be eternally grateful for that, no matter how many times they got on his nerves.

As his eyes glanced over the picture again, he wondered what his aunt's reaction was when she heard that Lily had been murdered. Because, no matter how much Petunia claimed to dislike her sister, they were still sisters. Was she sad? Did she cry? Did she still think of Lily? Harry had the sudden urge to ask.

His musing were interrupted by the sound of the cat flap in the door being pushed open and a tray being set on the floor. Harry hurried to the door, clutching the photo in his hand.

"Aunt Petunia?" he called softly.

"What?" she barked back.

Harry was silent a moment before bending down to push the picture through the flap. He didn't hear anything, but a few moments later the photo was taken out of his fingertips. He waited, crouched at the door, for his aunt to say something, anything. Petunia, crouched at the door as well, stared at the photo in her hands. Memories of lazy day afternoons, sleepovers, pillow fights, daisy chains, old records, trading clothes and gossip flashed through her mind. Memories of fights, embarrassment, lies, and devastation raced to the forefront and she closed her eyes with a sigh.

"Where did you get this?" she asked so softly that Harry had to strain to hear her.

"In a box in the closet," he said just as quietly.

The picture was pushed back through the flap so quickly that Harry didn't have time to catch it before it fluttered to the floor.

Petunia moved away from the smallest bedroom quickly, but she hadn't gone far before she heard Harry call out again. She stopped and turned, but did not go to his door. Harry heard his aunt's footsteps fall short just before the staircase. He took a chance at talking to her.

"You miss her, don't you?" he called out, hoping she was listening and he wasn't talking to himself. "You say you didn't care about her, that she was freak because she was a witch. But she was still your sister. You grew up together, you shared things with each other, and even when you didn't want to, you took in her son, the son of a witch and a wizard who would most likely become what they were. You took me in, even though you knew what I was going to become. Because I was your sister's son, the sister whom you still cared about."

During Harry's speech, Petunia had crept silently to the door. She stood there now, running Harry's word through her mind.

"You look like her."

Harry was shocked. Everyone had always said he looked like his father, everything but the eyes.

"In the eyes you mean? Everyone says I look like my dad."

"Possibly. I've never seen your dad. But I think you look like your mum. Every year you get bigger, you look more and more like her. Not just in the eyes. You have her ears and nose as well."

Harry grinned, touching his nose and ears softly.

"You act like her too. So stubborn and brave hearted. She always got what she wanted, no matter what. She was kind too. You could see it in her eyes. I see her in you Harry. Everyday."

Harry was silent once again, waiting for his aunt to continue.

"I remember when I found out she was dead. That Dumbledore character had written it in that letter that he left with you. Your uncle didn't care much about what had happened to Lily, he was to busy worrying about what to do with you. But I, well, I was devastated. My sister, whom at one point I had loved unconditionally, was dead, her young son an orphan. I tried not to let your uncle see how distraught I was and finally I was able to put my feelings behind a mask. I convinced your uncle to let you stay, knowing it was the least I could do for my sister. But I vowed to 'stomp' that magic nonsense out of you, knowing that someday it could get you killed. And then who would carry Lily's memory? Me? The sister who swore to be her best friend forever or until she went off to do something _I_ couldn't do? No. I promised to keep you safe, even if it meant squashing your potential.

"So yes, I do miss her. Now more than ever because you two are so much alike. I see her everyday in you," she finished on a whisper.

Both nephew and aunt were silent for a long time before Harry heard his Aunt Petunia walk away. He was shocked at how his usually stoic aunt had opened up to him. As he grabbed the tray of food at his feet he thought over the new information he had just received. He had new insight on both his mum and his aunt. He also had a new respect for his aunt. That was, until he tasted the soup that she had brought to him.


End file.
